


And Behold

by confusedkayt



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Compliant, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Misogyny, Please approach this with all caution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 17:24:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8999956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confusedkayt/pseuds/confusedkayt
Summary: Written for Docnickie in the Hannigram Holiday Exchange.
The body must be prepared before it can withstand the Revelation of the Great Red Dragon and give the message to the other lowly creatures.
Set in the period between when Dolarhyde snatches Chilton from his van and when Chilton wakes up, written from the POV of Dolarhyde/the Dragon.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [docnickie](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=docnickie).



> WARNINGS: Oh man, there are A LOT for this piece. Chilton is unconscious for all of it, and it is very, very rape/noncon. In case this information informs your comfort as a reader, it is nonpenetrative (except for a brief brush of adhesive mixture in the anal area which is like... more invasive than penetrative, but still, better more info than less.)
> 
> I also can't overstate the internalized homophobia and misogyny present in Dolarhyde's inner monologue. I found it disturbing to write. I am not sure whether I hope you find it disturbing to read or not, but, in any case, I figured better to over than under-caution with this piece.

The body is not worthy. The Dragon rejects it. It is flawed, used. Touched and molded by the hands of others. Unworthy hands, Lecter's mewling agents who cut and shot and left deep marks that mar the belly, the face. The records are in the Dragon's manuscript, flesh made raw and innards exposed to the air and to the unclean clutching hands of the Lounds creature. Lounds, the lowest of the writhing grubs for it looks, it looks but it does not See. Lounds, privy to the evidence of so many glorious Becomings of the heralds come to make the world ready for the time of the Dragon, Lounds who sneers where it should tremble on its dirty knees.

The body has looked, also, but it has tried to See. It is limited by its nature and the work of its hands is unworthy even of Lecter. It is weak and corrupted by the lies of its betters, filthy lies from Lecter and his false prophet Will Graham. Still, it has tried to See. It may yet bear the news of the great Becoming of the Great Red Dragon to an ignorant world if its feeble eyes and ears and grey little brain can absorb a fraction of the Dragon's glory.

If it is to survive the glory of the revelation it must be prepared. It is unworthy, but useful, and the Dragon will acquiesce. Dolarhyde strips the soiled trousers and limp yellowing briefs from the body. It must be cleaned. This is an easy task - the body is slight and easy to lift. Its excretions and reeking sweat yield easily to the swipe of the washcloths used for just this purpose on Grandmother's guests before the time of the becoming. It twitches as though it may wake but that, too, is easily overcome. Dolarhyde presses a chloroform cloth to its marred face just for a moment. Not too long. It must survive to wake and See.

The cloth comes away marred with beige stains. Dolarhyde nearly drops the cloth in his revulsion - it is weak, that is true, but to find it has debased itself with the false face of of a female is sick-making beyond what he had expected. Its hands, too, are smooth, its arms thin. Truly the vessel is too weak for the message, but with the Dragon's boons it may suffice.

The chair is ready. The bowl is prepared. It is the work of a moment to fill it with Superglue, a small measure of water. Now is the time to look upon the doings of the Dragon and to impart the Essence. The projector is solid and steady, and the Images are good. The Dragon fills him as the proof of his manhood fills his hand. The memory of the Changes is almost as good as the working of them. Almost. It takes many strokes, hard and sure, before the Essence comes forth from his body and into the bowl. Pearl like the sheen of the wings, like the bright white edges of Reba's eyes. NO. She has no place here, not in this. She is not for the Dragon. The body is unworthy to exist in space where she has been.

She is not for the Dragon, and the Dragon knows as Dolarhyde does that there is no time. It is time to stir the bowl, to paint the body's frail pale thighs with its contents. The Dragon insists that he must be thorough, that it is no debasement to run the brush into the dirty crevasse of the body though his fingers brush the filthiest places and feel the way it is ready to yield to the press of fingers and manhood, how it likely has because it is weak and frail and painted like a she-devil where it should have at least the pride of a male worm.

Dolarhyde places the body in the chair, presses those pale weak thighs and the filthy places to the seat. It slumps forward, and disturbs the seal. He is forced to anoint its back, as well, and that, at least, is rough as a male's should be. Dolarhyde presses the back to the chair but still it slumps forward and he is forced to press the body to the chair with his own arms and chest and hold it there. Dolarhyde is close, so close that he can smell the wretched stench of perfumes the body has defiled itself with in defiance of its maleness. It is weaker than he thought.

The Dragon insists. The Essence will not be enough. More is needed if a vessel this feeble is to withstand even the barest glimpse of the glory of the Great Red Dragon. The Dragon insists, and so he runs his long forked tongue over the body's scented neck, its painted cheek, its frail ears and feminine nose. Already there is an effect. It no longer slumps forward, but its breaths are slow and shallow. It is weak, too weak. More is needed.

The Dragon arches its back and uncoils the tongue behind its strong teeth. The body's thighs are smooth beneath the tongue, and warm. Here at least it smells almost like a man and it cannot - this cannot be bourn. He pulls away and swallows saliva to wash the wrong wrong wrong taste from himself.

But the vessel is weak, too weak and more is needed. The Dragon is right about that. Dolarhyde takes the reel from the projector and rewinds the Images. Again. Again. More is needed. His own male strength and the strength of the Dragon fill him up but still it takes a long time. Finally, finally, he is ready to give more of the Essence.

The Dragon insists. The vessel is weak and the Essence cannot be diluted. The Dragon insists. It is defilement, it is debasement. Dolarhyde does not want to do it but the Dragon insists. Only the full strength of the Essence will be enough, and it is Dolarhyde's fault, his fault for choosing a vessel this poor and he must, he must, he MUST PREPARE IT NOW and so he turns to face the body. The Dragon will not allow him to close his eyes or even to picture the Images. This is Dolarhyde's fault, his fault and he must lay his eyes upon the male body and accept the humiliation of what must be done as a result of his mistakes. His stomach churns but he must, he must, and finally he does, he spills the Essence straight from himself onto the body's thin thighs. The Great Red Dragon accepts his penance and requires only that he use his hands to anoint as much of the body as he can with the Essence spilled upon it.

Now it is time to wait. He will clean himself, and he will dress, and he will wait. Soon the body will wake and it will be taught, at last, to See.


End file.
